3. Bedlam

---

Kim walked into the wild and raucous dining hall, where a baseball game was blaring away on a hundred video screens. “Out!” screamed the Drabs, “Safe!” screamed the Pretties, and fists went flying before a verdict had even been announced. A dozen black-armored security guards appeared out of nowhere, laying into the brawlers with cruel-looking stun whips that crackled, popped, and sparked as they flew through the air. Order was restored in less than a minute, and the diners went on with their meals as if nothing had happened.

Kim stood there for a few moments, stunned by the sudden outbreak of violence, then looked around the lobby, wondering what to do next.

The entrance to the dining hall was crowded with hundreds of patrons, milling about and chatting with friends while taking their places in one of the two chow lines—one on the left for Drabs, one on the right for Pretties. Some of those in the Pretty line wore just a scarf or earring to mark their allegiance; others were dressed in religious garb, such as that of the Wiccans or the Abrahamics, or garments pertaining to their trade, as did the Chemists and the Chefs. Many were in colorful clothing in unusual cuts—doubtless Fashionistas—or revealing garments leaving little to the imagination, proclaiming themselves Flagrants, the most extreme of the Genderists.

Kim, at last, spotted Dani with her bright-green headscarf, standing next to a small, wiry youth with a pockmarked face, clad in black and wearing a bowler-style hat with a daisy tucked into its band.

“Hi Dani,” said Kim, walking up to the pair. “Who’s your friend?”

“This is Pug,” said Dani. “She was born here. A Lifer, as they say.”

“Pleased to meet you,” said Pug in a low, guttural voice.

“Likewise,” said Kim.

“I see you’re wearing something Pretty,” Dani continued. “Good, I’ve been hoping you’d join us.”

“Well, here I am,” Kim answered as another brawl broke out after a close play at third base. “Is it like this every night?”

“That was nothing,” laughed Dani. “Just wait until the playoffs.

“I’m sure you have a million questions, so fire away,” she continued as they took their place at the end of the chow line. “We’ve got plenty of time.”

Kim was happy to delve into practical matters—it would give her something useful to focus on.

“Okay, first question. How do I do laundry? I always let the housebot do it for me, and I have no idea where to even start.”

“That one’s easy enough. There should be laundry machines at the end of your hall. Just make sure you stay parked there until the end of the cycle, or your clothes are likely to get stolen. Next question?”

“What about the bugs?”

“Ugly brown things with long antennae?”

“Yep, and there are zillions of them. The place smells awful.”

“They’re called cockroaches, and those are a bit more difficult. The Housing Company is required to get rid of them, and you can file a complaint, but I wouldn’t expect any action. Other than that, there are chemicals you can buy. I know someone who sells them, but they cost money.”

“How much?”

“Ten francs should do it.”

Ouch! That was a lot.

“I’ve got a few coins left over from a little adventure I had a few months ago, but it’s nowhere near enough.”

“Then you need to get yourself a side hustle. All the Pretties have one; it’s the only way to survive long-term. What about mice? If you’ve got roaches, I’m guessing you have those, too.”

“Small furry creatures that run away when you turn on the light?”

Dani laughed. “You’ve led a sheltered existence, haven’t you? Inner districts all your life?”

“Yep, except for a few weeks in the middles just before I got sent down.”

“You’ll need to buy traps or poison for those, or maybe you could rent a cat.”

“Rent a cat? How’s a cat going to help, and aren’t those expensive?”

“I mean a real cat. You know, whiskers, goes meow. There’s a person called the catmonger who rents them out for a franc per week, plus food once they’ve eaten all the mice.”

“I thought those were illegal,” Kim said, still puzzled. “Where does she get them from?”

“You really are from some other planet. Momma cat, papa cat, kittens. They breed like there’s no tomorrow as long as you keep them fed. I’ve got one myself; they’re nice to have around the house.”

_

Tonight’s offering was exactly what Kim wanted: vegetables and mashed potatoes, a huge vat of stew, and all the bread she could eat. It was simple, hearty fare, not fancy or refined, but perfect after a day of heavy manual labor. The servers plopped down huge quantities of everything with bored indifference, filling her bowl to overflowing with stew and practically burying the vegetables under a thick coating of gooey mashed potatoes. The bread, coarse-textured and rough, was plentiful, and she heaped it high on the side of her tray. Maybe the outer districts weren’t so bad after all; at least there was plenty to eat.

Kim walked with Dani and Pug down the center aisle of the room, trying to be inconspicuous as they passed through a gauntlet of black-clad thugs with crooked noses, missing teeth, and prominent scars—Toughs, as Dani called them.

Uh oh. Not them again.

Sure enough, the two hoodlums who had nearly waylaid her at the bus station were perched menacingly on the aisle. Kim made herself as small as she could manage, hoping to evade detection, but no such luck.

“Well, well, well,” sneered Mags in a loud and obnoxious voice, rising from her seat and stepping into the aisle. “It’s that Lady Killer we’ve been looking for. Thought you’d given us the slip, did you?”

Lady Killer? What was that about?

“Yeah, we found the Lady Killer alright,” said Luz, as big and ugly as Kim remembered her.

A beat-down seemed imminent, when Crack! The home team’s cleanup hitter smoked one to the shortstop—providing a perfect distraction. Kim barreled headlong down the aisle as the charging runner flattened the second baseman, the benches emptied, and the dining hall exploded into yet another brawl. She slipped through in the confusion, rushing past Mags and Luz as the guards waded in and broke up the fight, but her dinner tray did not survive the confrontation and its contents were now splattered across the floor.

Damn. Now what?

_

“You need to eat,” said Pug, speaking for the first time since their introduction (she didn’t seem much for words). She motioned for Kim to follow and led her down the center aisle, back to the gauntlet of black-clad Toughs blocking the way.

“How are you going to get past them?” Kim asked.

“Easy,” said Pug. “I’ll start a fight.”

Kim swallowed hard and wondered if perhaps it would be easier to skip dinner, but anger began to well up within her, displacing her fear and growing into a roaring blaze of defiance. Who were these thugs to be standing in her way? If she wasn’t willing to fight these bullies here and now, while she had an ally, she would spend the remainder of her life cowering in fear. What little remained of it, that is—life would be short and brutal in this jungle if she was too frightened to stand up for herself.

Kim and Pug walked up to Mags, Luz, and the other Toughs, spoiling for a fight.

“Well, lookie what we gots here,” sneered Mags, standing in the center of the aisle once again. “The Lady Killer brought along a friend.”

“Yeah,” said Luz, laughing derisively. “Not much of friend, though. Just Pug, babysitting a pervert. I hear she’s a pervert too, only none of them will touch her because she’s not pretty enough.”

Mags and the others joined in the laughter, sprinkling in taunts of “Lady Killer” and “pervert” for good measure.

“She’s with me, maggot,” shouted Pug. She pushed Mags roughly aside, then shoved Luz backward into a table for good measure.

Fists flew as the aisle erupted, and Kim lost all awareness of what she was doing; consumed by rage, she was conscious only of the need to fight back, to hurt them, to make them pay. She felt a sickening crunch as one of her punches flattened someone’s nose, and she was dimly aware that her face was covered with blood, but the melee soon devolved into a shoving match as everyone crowded together with no room to throw a solid punch.

Zzzzzap!

Kim felt a wave of searing pain as a stun-whip fell her across her back, her muscles cramping as if to rip her bones from their sockets and tear her limbs apart. It seemed to go on forever, though it lasted only a moment.

Everyone was laughing at her. She was the only one laid out on the floor.

“Tense all your muscles just before it hits,” said Pug, helping Kim to her feet. “It stops the convulsions, and you’ll shake it off a lot faster.”

“You two, stop the gab, back to your tables,” said the guard, whip in hand, ready to lash out at them at the least provocation.

“C’mon, chill,” said Pug. “She’s just heading to the chow line. We’re not looking for trouble.”

“Back to your tables, scum.”

Out came the whip, crackling and sparkling as it went, but Pug was ready and tensed up just before it landed. She winced with pain but kept her feet, staring back at the guard, full of defiance.

Next, it was Kim’s turn, and she exploded in rage before she even felt the sting of the lash. She was going to get her food, and nobody was going to stop her. She braced herself, tensing every muscle in her body as Pug had said to, and it worked—the pain was overwhelming, but she was still on her feet. Another step toward the chow line, another lashing. And another, and another, each blow of the whip only serving to make her angrier and more defiant as she inched toward her goal. Damn the pain, damn the guards; she was not going to give in, no matter how badly they hurt her.

“Alright, go ahead if it’s that important to you,” said the guard, relenting at last. She turned to break up another fight that had broken out toward the back of the room.

Kim walked to the front of the line, got her food, and returned to her seat. Nobody got in her way.

_

Kim was finally able to take her place with Dani and Pug and set about the serious business of eating. She shoveled a big spoonful of mashed potatoes into her mouth. Bland, but satisfying. The vegetables? Mushy and almost without taste, but inoffensive. How about the stew? The chunks of synbeef swimming in the congealed broth were beginning to lose their texture and disintegrate, but it was piping hot—a welcome sensation after a day of unrelenting cold. Most important, it was plentiful and filling.

“That didn’t take long,” said Dani.

“The fight?” said Kim, shrugging as she continued to devour the hot, satisfying stew. “I’m still in one piece, but I bet I look a mess.”

“I’ve seen worse. Still have your teeth?”

Kim felt around the inside of her mouth with her tongue, and yes, there was a gap.

“All but one.”

“I’m glad you got that out of the way. The Toughs always test the newcomers, make them earn respect. Once they know you’ll fight back, they usually leave you alone. Did you get stunned? I heard a ruckus up front, but I couldn’t really see what was going on.”

“Yeah, the guards laid into me pretty good, but Pug taught me how to shake it off. It hurts like hell, but I’m not going to let anyone intimidate me. There’s been too much of that in my life, and I’m done with it.”

“It’s a good skill to have,” said Dani. “I’ve never been terribly good at it myself. I end up on the floor as often as not, but I’ve been here a while, and people mostly leave me alone.”

“How long has that been?” asked Kim. “You don’t have to answer if that’s too nosy a question.”

Dani shrugged. “I’ve lost count. Twenty years? It’s hard to remember anything else. I used to hope that they’d let me out someday, but I gave up on that a long time ago.”

_

“Place your bets, place your bets; the inning is about to start,” cried out a red-uniformed runner, walking down the aisle.

“Nothing for me,” said Dani.

“Fifty centimes on the Jackals to lose,” said Pug. Kim gathered that the home team was not popular with the Pretties.

“How about you,” said the runner, looking at Kim.

“None for me,” she answered. “I don’t have any money.”

“Don’t worry about that. Monty will advance you a franc to get you started. Pay it back any time, 25% interest per week as usual.”

“I’ll pass,” said Kim.

She waited until the attendant was out of earshot.

“Gambling, loan sharking…where are the drug dealers and pimps?”

Dani laughed. “Oh, you mean the Entrepreneurs. They’re all in the back of the room, ‘talking business,’ as they say. Some of them are legit, like the Banker and the Caterer, but most of them are little more than gangsters.”

Kim had spent most of her years at The Artificial Intelligence Company helping to unravel ‘cultist networks,’ such as the Foodies and the Fashionistas, who supposedly ran clandestine workshops in the outer districts. She’d always presumed they were yet another phantasm conjured up by the authorities, but they appeared to be real.

She needed to learn more about this underground economy.

“Earlier you said something about needing a side hustle,” she asked in between bites of the coarse brown bread. “What were you talking about?”

“Nobody can live on what they pay you at the work center. That’s part of how they break you—they work you to death, but it’s never enough. Most of the Pretties find a useful skill, such as making clothes or cooking food—anything that people are willing to pay money for. Some of them do quite well at it. The Drabs want to avoid antagonizing the companies or the Hierarchy, so they mostly do odd jobs and provide manual labor. That’s another source of friction: we’ve got money, they don’t.”

Their conversation was interrupted by dramatic music blaring over the speakers of a hundred video screens. The ballgame had ended, and a new program was about to begin, prompting groans and shouts of outrage from all within the room. Kim paid it no attention, and had just returned to her mashed potatoes when Dani shrieked, “What the hell! That isn’t you, is it?”

Kim looked up.

Oh. Gee. Look what was on TV tonight.

Tales from the Halls of Justice: The People vs. Kim

This must be the surprise the Director had warned her of.

_

A helicopter swooped in for a dramatic landing, the music swelled—and then it stopped, replaced by a martial drumbeat. The hatch opened, and Kim saw herself emerge in the custody of four black-clad guards, her form blurred to avoid shocking the audience as she was paraded across the plaza clad only in a skimpy spandex jersey and bicycle shorts.

“Shameless,” said a commentator.

“Appalling,” added another, as if Kim were responsible for not being given proper clothes. “Is there no decency?”

The martial drumbeat continued as Kim was solemnly marched across the plaza. She mounted the stairs, then walked through a pair of massive bronze doors.

Boom!

They closed behind her as she vanished into the darkness beyond. Stirring music. Rolling titles and opening credits. The show was about to begin.

The room grew ominously silent. Everyone was staring at Kim. She’d been recognized already.

“Is this a simple case of illicit, Genderistic sex,” said the court reporter, “or is it something darker? Betrayal? Secret blood rituals? Or even…dare I say…”

Pregnant pause and ominous music.

“Murder?”

What the hell? Where did they get that from?

Kim stared at the video, her mind numb with horror. She had made it big time, alright, appearing as the star attraction in a prime-time show trial. There were huge social merit bonuses for watching broadcasts such as this, and pretty much everyone would either see the coverage or hear of it, along with whatever lies the producers came up with to spice up the truth.

“So, tell us about this case,” said the reporter.

“We’d love to,” said a so-called legal analyst. “The defendant in this case, known as Kim, has led a life of extraordinary privilege. She’s been given the best of everything—a top-rated mentor, an education at a prestigious academy, and a plum job at The Artificial Intelligence Company. She was even tapped for the Cadre, personally selected by none other than Deputy First Minister Venn herself.”

“It sure seems like she had everything,” said the reporter, continuing the pre-game commentary. “So how did she end up here? And what’s this talk of murder?”

The analyst began to speak in hushed tones, as if she was letting the listeners in on some secret conspiracy. “We have just obtained explosive surveillance footage that will answer all your questions. Viewer discretion is advised—what you are about to see is both graphic and violent. You have been warned.”

Having thus guaranteed the rapt attention of everyone watching the coverage, the video began to roll.

The grainy images, shot from a drone overhead, zoomed in to show the blurred forms of two persons lying naked together on a rock. Suddenly they looked up and ran for cover, grabbing their clothes and hastily getting dressed before disappearing from view.

That was the most beautiful moment of my life.

“Based on this footage alone, the defendant is expected to plead guilty to all charges,” said the analyst. “A routine case so far. It is what comes next that sets this one apart.”

The coverage cut to a closeup of Kim holding Shan’s wrist in her hand. The image was blurred and shaky so that it was impossible to see exactly what was happening, but the blood seeping from between Kim’s fingers and dripping onto the ground was unmistakable. They zoomed in on Kim’s face as she grinned sadistically while Shan cried and begged for mercy.

That’s not the way it happened! What is going on here?

The truth was that Shan had decided to become a Blank, one of those shadowy non-persons who hung around on the fringes of society. Kim had cut the ID chip from her wrist, as asked, but there had been no begging for mercy, no sadistic grin.

The doctored clip abruptly ended just as Kim flicked something into the water, and the cameras cut back to the talking heads.

“We’ve never seen anything like that, and we hope we never do again,” said the reporter. “What sort of sadistic monster would do such a thing?”

The analyst shook her head. “Apparently, it’s some sort of secret Gendercult initiation ritual.”

“Ghastly. They should lock her away for life.”

I’m screwed.

The analyst continued, looking directly into the camera. “Indeed they should, but the court has refused to admit the video into evidence on the flimsy technicality that it cannot be authenticated. According to our sources, an act of sabotage destroyed the drone along with the original recordings.”

Kim was one of the few who understood the nature of this ‘act of sabotage.’ For reasons she still did not understand, whenever a mobile, a headset, or any other surveillance device came within range of a Blank, it glitched and shut down. Shan’s new status had caused the drone to fall into the water, where it had exploded and sunk.

“Genderism, illicit sex, and sadistic blood rituals are one thing,” said the reporter as the coverage of the so-called trial continued. “But why this talk of murder?”

“Watch the next clip.”

The screen then showed a heavily doctored video in which the police struggled to subdue Kim, who was violently resisting (she’d gone quietly), attacking them like some sort of deranged fiend (didn’t happen), clawing at their faces while screaming obscenities and cackling hysterically (difficult to do with your arms pinned behind your back).

“Notice that the victim of Kim’s depravity is nowhere to be found. She has been declared missing and is presumed dead, but no corpse has been discovered, so they cannot bring charges of murder.”

“Proof? Who needs proof? This is a hideous miscarriage of justice!”

“We know, we know,” said the analyst. “Sadly, the courts continue to resist all efforts at reform, so they’re going to let her off on the merest technicality.”

Kim had to admire how masterfully it had all been done, mixing a little of the truth with innuendo, distortion, and outright fabrications, painting her as a sadistic villain beyond all redemption. She also understood now where Mags’s taunt of “Lady Killer” had come from. Someone had tipped them off; they’d known this was coming.

_

The trial eventually ended, replaced by another baseball game, and a short yet powerfully built Flagrant with jet-black skin came looking for Kim.

“That’s Bel,” said Pug, leaning over and whispering hoarsely into Kim’s ear. “Top-dog Flagrant. I’d be nice to her if I was you.”

She made a stunning impression, dressed in flaming-red leather that would have gotten her arrested anywhere else, her mams bared almost down to the nipples, and the entire midsection of her body exposed. The skirt, if one could call it that, came down barely below her crotch, and her boots came up well above her knees. Little was left to the imagination, and Kim stood there in silence, stunned at the indecency of her outfit, though not unappreciative.

“Out with it,” said Bel, fixing Kim in her gaze. “Who have you pissed off? Someone’s gone to a lot of trouble to make you unpopular around here, and I need to know who it is.”

Kim shrugged. “Nobody important. Just Deputy First Minister Venn.”

“Cripes, you really know how to pick your enemies.”

“The way I see it, she picked me.”

“Either way, she sure has it in for you. I saw her put in a good word for you at the trial, but she wasn’t doing you any favors. She does that all the time: she offers her victim grace and forgiveness, then sends them here. A week later, they turn up dead, killed by some UCE suck-up. That way, Her Serenity’s hands stay clean, at least officially.”

“I’d pretty much figured that out already,” answered Kim. “The moment I got off the bus, Mags and Luz were waiting for me, and they’ve been breathing down my neck ever since.”

“That video was a signal,” added Bel. “It warns everyone to stay away from you, that you’re a target. Everyone knows it’s a setup, but most will play along; they figure you’ll be dead within a week, so they aren’t going to stick their necks out for you.”

“What about you?” asked Kim. “Are you sticking your neck out for me?”

“It depends,” said Bel. “If you want to run with me, you need to look the part. I can fix you up with some leather, so don’t plead poverty.”

Kim thought carefully about how to answer. Bel’s offer made sense, but she was hesitant for reasons that had nothing to do with modesty or any lingering shame about her so-called perversion.

“I don’t think so,” said Kim.

“Why not? Everyone knows what you are. Why hide it?”

“I’m a Genderist, alright, but that’s not how I define myself.”

“How do you define yourself, then?”

“I’m Kim, and I’m the only one who gets to decide who I am. If I decide to go Flagrant, it will be because I want to, not because I want to ‘run with you,’ as you put it. And I’m not asking you to protect me. If you help me, it’ll be because you want to, and I’ll gladly help you some day, but I’m done with obedience.”

“That sort of talk can get you killed around here. I’d be careful if I were you. You need all the friends you can get just now.”

“I’ve already given myself up for dead, and I don’t believe in friendship. Certainly not from someone I barely know, and certainly not in this place.”

The two locked eyes, studying one another for several seconds, then Bel began to smile.

“You’ve got guts, kid. I’ll give you that. I’ll be sad when they haul you away in a box.”

_

“Len wants to have a word with you,” said Ned, tapping Kim on the shoulder. “She’s at the back of the room. Don’t keep her waiting.”

“What does a bigshot like Len want with you?” asked Dani.

“I have no idea,” said Kim. “Ned gave me a ride home from the bus station, but she didn’t say anything about Len.”

“Odd,” said Dani. “You should find out what she wants with you. She’s a good friend to have and a dangerous enemy to make.”

Kim got up and followed Ned toward the back of the room, walking past table after table jammed together with scarcely enough room to squeeze between them. It was crowded at first, but as they made their way to the back of the room, the diners thinned out and began to seem more like ordinary folk, with fewer hostile glances from those on the left, fewer outlandish outfits on the right. The last dozen or so tables were occupied not by diners but by individuals selling inexpensive items, with prices marked in centimes, spread out on cloths in front of them. Bars of soap, morsels of chocolate, a little bit of this, and a little bit of that.

At the very back of the room, at a half dozen tables clustered around the emergency exit, they found the ‘Entrepreneurs,’ as Dani had called them. They all wore exotic garments in an archaic style: dark jackets of finely woven cloth and collared shirts with brightly colored strips of fabric hanging down the middle. Most wore hats of one sort or another, and many sported handkerchiefs tucked neatly into the breast pocket of their jackets. If the videos were to be believed, they were either gangsters or (even worse) capitalists, but whoever they might be, they appeared to be individuals of both wealth and considerable power, the captains of the underground economy.

“So, you’re the infamous Lady Killer,” said one of them, rising to her feet and gesturing for Kim to take a seat. She was not an imposing figure, slightly built and of middling years with neatly trimmed hair on both her head and face. The dark-blue jacket, light-blue shirt, and necktie of gold-colored silk were eye-catching and beautiful. The colors matched both Ned’s livery and her pedicab; evidently Len was Ned’s boss, and a person of considerable importance.

“The name’s Kim, if you don’t mind,” she said, taking a seat. She had made her mind up to deal with Len exactly as she had learned to deal with the Director back at The AI Company—she would be polite, but would under no circumstances show any signs of fear or intimidation.

Len smiled slyly. “A bit of friendly advice, kid. A bad reputation is a good thing to have in a place like this.”

“I didn’t kill her.”

“So what? You think I care? And, more importantly, do you think they care?” she added, waving her hand toward the masses at the front of the room.

“Here, take this.” Len tossed a small metal object onto the table.

Is that…a switchblade???

“If those goons give you any more trouble, show them this; they’ll back down. And learn to use it in case they don’t. A lot of people think Pretties like you are easy prey.”

“Thanks for the advice. And for the blade. I appreciate it.”

That seemed to be all Len had in mind, but Kim sensed an opportunity. She needed some sort of ‘side hustle,’ as Dani had put it, and pedicabbing might be just the thing.

“I’m looking for a way to earn some coin,” said Kim. “Maybe I could ride for you. I used to race bikes, and I know how to take orders and keep my mouth shut.”

Len turned around and gave Kim a long, careful look. “Perhaps. Ned, what do you think?”

“She handled herself pretty well just now with Mags and Luz, and she’s pretty savvy for a noob. A brassy one, I’ll say that much.”

“Most of my riders are Lifers,” said Len with a sour expression on her face. “You look strong enough, but there’s no way you can cut it until you know the bike paths like the back of your hand. Entertainment districts, housing projects, dining halls, warehouses, factories, not to mention the hidden ways and all the places that don’t exist.”

“I’m willing to learn.”

“We don’t do on-the-job training, noob,” said Ned. “Beat it!”

“Hold it a moment,” said Len, glaring at Ned. “I’m the one calling the shots around here. Take this Lady Killer here out for a spin next Fiveday and see what she’s got.”

“Since when do you take on noobs?” said Ned. She threw her arms up in feigned astonishment.

“That will be enough,” said Len, rising to her feet. “If I say take her out for a spin, you’ll take her out for a spin. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yeah, sure, boss. Whatever you say.”

Kim was uncertain what to make of Ned’s insubordination. Perhaps she was just being cheeky, or maybe she had been caught off guard by Len’s willingness to give the newcomer a chance. It was possible, however, that she’d been baiting Len, goading her into a decision she would not normally have made. If so, why? Taken at face value, Ned seemed to be going out of her way to help Kim, behavior that seemed oddly out of character in this place.

Never trust the shadows or a stranger or a friend.

Whatever her motivations might be, Ned had been honest enough in that piece of advice.

“Meet me on Fiveday after dinner,” said Ned.

“Sure,” said Kim. “It’s a date.”

As Kim got up, the dining hall erupted into chaos once more. “Out!” cheered the Pretties, “Safe!” screamed the Drabs, and the security guards moved in to break up yet another fight.

It was just another night in the dining hall.